


Shadowed

by Kishushi



Category: The Animals of Farthing Wood (TV)
Genre: Animals, F/M, Foxes, Non Consensual, Yuletide, challenge: New Year Resolutions 2009
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-02
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kishushi/pseuds/Kishushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first reaction to her Scarface had was anger, the second desire, and only later came the beginnings of a plan to have her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadowed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AylaPascal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AylaPascal/gifts).



> Written for Ayla Pascal in the New Year Resolutions 2009 Challenge.

The first reaction to her Scarface had was anger, the second desire, and only later came the beginnings of a plan to have her.

His anger was linked to scent, how first he'd become aware of the scent of his rival's kin lingering in his son's pelt. Scarface kept his nose to Ranger's silver-blue fur, sniffing at him from shoulder to rump. He moved stiff-legged with anger but Ranger stood still, his paws set wide, a strong stance. It was, though, belied by the lower set of his head and a faint trembling.

Scarface's upper lip curled and he nipped a chastisement to Ranger's flank, where a whorl of awry fur had him imaging a drift of red fur, a young vixen's side against his son's. Had they been just standing near? Any such calm closeness was more than there should be between his family and the intruders.

"Get out," Scarface said, his voice a low, unforgiving growl, and Ranger skulked away. He didn't protest his innocence, but then Scarface hadn't used words to accuse him with, in any case.

*

The vixen was startlingly young, all long, lithe limbs, her gangly form only a little softened by her red fur, still grey pale in places. So near to childhood still, surely no older than Ranger, or his lost Bounder.

Scarface was skulking himself, now, dignity forgotten in the urge to know. He'd skulk in shadows and hide in dim places if that was the necessary path to more than wondering at Ranger's infatuation and downfall.

They were so young, all longing glances and brief, betraying touches of flank to flank. Ranger put his paw to the vixen's shoulder but it wasn't even the clumsy beginnings of a mating. Did he mean to comfort her?

Scarface hadn't been able to catch the meaning in the youths' earlier, furtive whisperings, but there was a carrying whine to Ranger's voice now. "Charmer..."

It was, Scarface thought, a fitting name. She was a charmer—far too much of one, if she could seduce Ranger from family loyalty.

Ranger might not have tried to have her yet—not that Scarface had seen, or got any sense of in his son's manner. That scent would have been more than a faint lingering, and perhaps Ranger, panting after the vixen though he seemed to be, still had more sense than to try such a thing and expect to come home to his family territory reeking—as he would be to fox noses even hours after—of such a miss-mating.

She had perhaps some charm to her, for all her wrong lines and the red color that blazed her of interlopers' blood.

Scarface's ears canted as he admitted to himself that he had begun to feel a stirring of desire for her.

*

At Ranger and Charmer's next meeting, the best-hidden place Scarface could find was some distance away. Even his pricked ears gathered only a few of the angry words the youths exchanged. Enough, when a lucky shift of light gave him a patch of dimness to slow-step closer in, to know it was more about that adder, the very one he's failed to outwait earlier. Such plotting for a charming young vixen to take part in.

Ranger turned from her, anger in the set of his shoulders, and when he moved away Charmer stared after him.

The sight of her stayed with Scarface as he slipped away.

*

If Ranger and Charmer remained angry at one another, their closeness and misguided wish for peace would surely dissipate. What better way to deepen the anger than to take this young vixen. Ranger would reject her then, if she didn't turn from him first.

Scarface thought, as he scuffed at the ground with one paw, perhaps Charmer would not be entirely unwilling. Besides, he could still be rough if he found he wanted to.

He could go so far as to separate her from her kin and take her into his own, especially if he got a bellyful of cubs on her, and seeing that would be something like a fit punishment for Ranger's disobedience and disloyalty.

The idea took a strong hold on Scarface. He felt attuned, focused, as in the dim evening he went from the heart of his territory and out beyond, where put his experience to use tracking Charmer's scent.

Usefully, she was alone, sitting in the dark. Scarface noticed a ripple of tension in her haunches, and how her brush twitched against the ground. She lowered her head to nip at her tail, one back paw, as if some slight itch bothered her.

He didn't watch her for long before stepping out from his shadowed place. The vixen whipped her head around and scrabbled to her feet. Scarface was moving fast towards her, dark paws an even pattern on the ground. She looked shocked, unsure and had barely got herself to all four of her own paws.

She looked, he thought with unaccustomed poetry, something like an autumn-brown leaf close to falling, a-tremble in the wind.

She was outright shaking when he got right to her and put his big shoulder heavy against her side. He started to push, and finally then she showed more spirit, her ears angling back and her expression souring. She even opened her mouth a little as if she'd try to bite him.

"Now," he said, and then stopped. Newly-born cub or as much as he had grown to, Ranger was his child to admonish. This vixen wasn't his child; was not a child at all, any longer.

Instead of trying to start a conversation, or an argument, he shouldered her again. It surprised him somewhat that, although breathing loudly and standing tense, Charmer hadn't moved away from him. She must have her own reasons for not attempting to break from him, or speak a protest.

He took in the scent of her, dimly familiar from shifts of breeze in the times he'd hidden to watch, and from the lingering on Ranger before. He sniffed at her nape, shoved his nose hard to her there and felt the fur between her shoulders and on the back of her head rub his scared face.

He mounted her quickly, and found the feel of her was right, having her beneath him and her smaller rump snug against his pressing haunches and the warmth there—

She was making small, low noises that might have been the beginning words, or muffled complaint. He imagined the sounds to be encouragement as he began to take her slowly, made her wait for each push, for his weight harder on her.

Her paws scrabbled on the ground and Scarface was briefly reminded of how she had looked such a short time before, when he came out of the dark at her. Her shock and then that spark of aggression.

His recollection fragmented as he buried himself deeper in the moment, and in her. Every few strokes he nipped at her, her shoulders, nape, one ear—barely closing his mouth that time although he had a sudden, rich idea of biting her hard, tearing her and sending her away ragged.

He felt her tense, and he opened his eyes, the one of them useless of course, but he turned his head enough to see her through his remaining good eye. She was shadowed to grey under him. The fur on her back was pushed in all directions by his movements and by his forelegs trapping her.

He stood for a long time, moving more and more slowly, feeling her twitch in pattern, around and beneath him. Her shoulders were hunched, her fur at strange angles there as well from where he had been biting. He kept his eyes partway closed, wasn't interested in the details of her, but he could hear rough panting and assumed she must have left her mouth open.

Scarface gave her one last, quick bite before raising his head. His eyes mere slits: all he could see then was a pale blur of moon through the scattered shapes of leaves as he voiced his satisfaction. Not too loudly—he didn't yet want to draw any fox of either family to witness this. Even Ranger should know it only later, when the act was completed beyond anyone's protest.


End file.
